Facing The Ghost
by Kronoskingofthemonkeypeople
Summary: Matthew has no choice but to return to Downton for Christmas. He has forced himself to move on with his life, but will he be so stubborn when Mary and Richard's engagement moves full steam ahead? The angst! The bed-room eyes! The mistletoe!
1. Chapter I

**Facing The Ghost – Chapter I**

Bright shadows danced across his closed eyes as he tilted his head up to the sun and breathed in the fresh afternoon air. He let his arm fall relaxed against the old wooden rail of the garden bench and stretched his feet through the crisp green grass. He could sense her beside him, but he didn't want to open his eyes in case she disappeared. He just needed to stay as he was, right now. Together. Them. Here. Forever.

A sombre morning alarm hummed through his frosted windows. Matthew shot his eyes open. His tired blue eyes peeked from over his blankets and focused on his surroundings. His dark, simply furnished room, his desk buried under various case files, jacket and ties tossed over his chair, and the dull light shining through his window, shutting out the grey sleet of the Manchester morning.

No. He's awake now.

He rubbed his eyes, hard, trying to erase the short moment of innocent joy of his dream. This hadn't happened for a while. He never dreamt about there, about _her_, since he left. He can't start again now, it would hurt too much.

With a quiet groan he pulled back his blankets and slowly rose from his simple bed. A sharp pain ran up his back and he looked over to his cane as it rested against his bedside table, taunting him. A sardonic smile pressed on his lips when he remembered how quickly he thought he would be done with the stick. But in the cold industrial air the pain had returned, some days worse than the others, though never to this degree. With a tired sigh his reached out to the cane and pulled himself up from the bed. He knew he should consider himself lucky he was no longer consigned to a chair, but any thoughts of _luck_ gave way to darker regrets.

The city outside began to hum with activity, mercifully blocking out his memories as he splashed his face with water and stared at himself in his small basin mirror. He had lost weight. His face was pale, the bags under his eyes grown darker and he was two days off a real shave. His old law school partner would not mention anything, he was a veteran too, he knew they all had bad days; you just didn't have to talk about it. He took him in when he suddenly turned up in Manchester asking for a job, but he didn't ask him why: because you don't need to talk about it. No good comes from bringing up old wounds.

There was a light tap on the door.

"Come in." Matthew answered in a baritone voice, roughly drying his face with a towel as he limped over to the door and opened it.

"Thank you Mr Crawley!" A small voice piped up as a short plump woman shuffled into the room carrying a tray of rattling china and toast. "Good mornin' Mr Crawley."

"Good morning Mrs Weston." Matthew couldn't help but form a tired smile at the now typical morning routine. "Here, let me take that."

"Oh no Mr Crawley, I can manage!" The woman manoeuvred her way around his small table, trying to find a gap between the mountain of paper work. "If you could just…"

"Oh, of course." Matthew quickly hobbled back to the table and cleared some stacks from the table, tried to find another place for them then gave up and stacked them on the end of his bed.

"Every mornin' you make space and then every next mornin' there's no space." Mrs Weston rattled away kindly as she placed down the tray and wiped her hands on her apron.

"Thank you Mrs Weston." He gave a small smile as she shuffled back out the door.

"Oh – " She suddenly stopped and turned back, pulling out a letter from her apron front. "Almost forgot. Letter came for you."

As she held up the small white envelope to him, the memory of his dream rushed back into view. It couldn't be from her.

Cautiously he took the letter from her hands and forced a smile of thanks. Mrs Weston wished him a good morning again and closed the door but he wasn't concentrating. The small letter seemed heavy in his hand. Since he moved back up north he received few messages, just as he had wanted. The day he left he cut all ties from that house, the house that had caused him nothing but tragedy and confusion.

Matthew flicked over the letter to see his name written on the cover. He gave a sigh of relief – it was his mother's hand. He considered tossing it over on to his desk, and leaving it until he felt he could face the ghosts of his abandoned life, but he knew if he left it, the image of it sitting there, unread, would burn into his mind.

In a sudden jolt he opened the envelope, sat down on the end of the bed and brought his eyes down to read his mother's careful words.

_My Dearest Matthew, _

_I know it has been some time since I last wrote, but you never responded to my two recent letters so I gleaned that you desired some peace from news of life up north. I truly hope Manchester is treating you well, and you are happy and occupying your brain with good work. _

_However, I feel I should get to the point. I miss you dearly, my son, and though I understand your deep sorrow connected to this place, I want you home with me, at Downton, for Christmas. _

_For five long years I have spent the festive season wishing that the fates would have mercy on my lonely heart and protect you, so now that you are but a few miles away, safe and well, it would be too painful for me to be without my only son for one more Christmas Eve. _

_I understand your wounds will still be open from the tragic events earlier this year, but your family is your family, and they will be here for you when you want them to be. _

_But for these few days, my dear, come back for me, come back for Christmas. _

_With strongest love, _

_Mother_

Matthew let out a deep sigh as his eyes glistened with a tear. He looked back down at the letter in his hand. A message from a past life, a shadow from a dream he tried to forget. But now he knew he had to stop running. It would take everything he had to confront his past, but he had no choice. He had to go back.

**NB:**

**EDIT: now with less glaring geographical stumbles!**

**Hi ho Downtonians! Aren't you all looking fabulous! This here is my first foray into Downton fanfic, so I thought I'd say hi! **

**Hi!**

**Right – now that all that boring intro stuff is out of the way, I thought I'd give you the low down of why I'm here. The dealio is I've been out of creative writing juices for an embarrassingly long time now, so I've forced myself to write for at least 2 hrs a day – and what happens when a fangirl is forced to write when she has no bloody idea how to write? We get fanfiction!**

**So you're probably thinking: Why are you telling me these boring details and why is she staring at me in this strange way?**

**Well first off, you've got some pasta in your hair – but mainly: I need your reviews! In order for me to keep up my writing regimen and not fall back into my Procrastinator in Chief role, I need some sort of momentum or feedback to keep this story going! I accept Cheerios, but they tend to be expensive if you send them overseas, so I think the best thing for everyone would be if you drop me a line and tell me what you think! **

**So if you want to see Matthew returning all twisted and sad to Downton to get bombarded by three (non-copyright) ghosts who show him the true meaning of Christmas and then have a cheery song and dance with Mary: REVIEW!**

**Tak!**


	2. Chapter II

**Facing The Ghost – Chapter II**

A billowing burst of steam roused Matthew from his thoughts. The train creaked to a halt as he glanced out of his frosted window, catching glimpses of the platform through the swirling smoke. Months ago, he had sworn to himself he'd never come back here, but times change, and some promises can never be kept. He knew that now. Matthew sighed then pushed himself up from the seat, grabbing his cane firmly as he unlocked the small latch then swung open the wooden door. A whirl of steam crashed into him as he picked up his carry bag and slowly stepped down into the shadows, onto the platform.

There was a sharp whistle then a low rumble as the train started to jolt back in to life behind him, taking away the smoke as it rolled past. Matthew bowed his head as shuffled past the various people on the platform, hoping to go un-noticed. There was no car waiting for him; he took the soonest train he could and didn't want to raise any notice, so instead he stepped down off the platform and into the crisp snow, now tinted orange from the afternoon sky as the sun set behind the dark rolling clouds.

The streets were quiet as he trudged through the crunching snow, save for the distant cries of joy from a few children playing with their sleds in the park, but Matthew didn't hear them. He had a job to do: that was it. He needn't even spend any time at the big house – just be there for his mother for Christmas, then go back to his new life. Simple.

A chill ran up from his toes and he looked up from under the brim of his hat to find that he had already reached the gate of his mother's house. He stopped in his tracks, almost afraid to go on. Carefully, he peered around the wall to see the drawing room window. The curtains were closed, but they glowed with warm brightness that seemed to beckon Matthew in. Quietly, he opened the gate and walked down the frosted cobblestone steps to the door.

Laying his bag down on the doorstep, he took in a deep breath then rose up his hand and knocked three times. For a moment, there was silence, a thought crossed Matthew's mind that maybe he could leave now and no one would know he had ever been. But he couldn't do that. Not to his mother. Before he could debate it any more the door flung open, revealing the very surprised face of Moseley.

"M.. Mr Crawley …sir!" The butler stammered, speechless.

"Good evening Mr Moseley." Matthew put on a small smile.

"Did I hear…" A faint voice came from the drawing room. "Moseley is – " Isobel appeared from around the corner, her face lighting up when she saw the dark figure of Matthew standing in the doorway.

"My boy!" She clapped her hands in joy as she strode down the hallway to her son. "My dear boy!" Moseley quietly stepped out of the way as Isobel moved in and took Matthew in to a warm, bounteous hug. "What a lovely, lovely surprise." She finally pulled away a held him by his arms as she took a long, studying look at him, her eyes shining.

Matthew couldn't help but feel some warmth flow back into his body as his mother held him tightly, and felt a genuine, but small, smile creep up on to his lips.

"Merry Christmas Mother."

Isobel gave him one more warm smile then stepped out of his way. "But you must be freezing, walking here in this weather. Come in and get warm. Moseley will take your bag up to your room."

"Of course I will." Moseley quickly stepped in and picked up Matthew's bag as his mother guided him into the house. "Welcome back home Mr Crawley."

Something stirred inside Matthew. Mentions of 'his room' and 'home' began to make him feel nervous, as if a rising tide of the past was coming up to drown him. He couldn't go back. Not now. He froze in the hallway, clutching on to his cane as his mother stopped with him, resting a hand on his arm.

"Matthew?" Her caring eyes tried to meet his. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Matthew quickly covered up. "Nothing… just a bit tired, that's all." He put on a smile. "Would it be very rude if I went up to bed?"

"Of course not." Isobel reassured. "No doubt you need a good rest. I'm just glad you're here."

Matthew nodded with a smile then slowly turned and made his way up the creaking stairs. He needed to be alone, to collect his own thoughts away from the smiles and warmth of his mother. He could still feel her watching him, studying him, as he reached the top of the stairs.

A tight knot pulled in his stomach. He knew he would have to pass Lavinia's old room in order to reach his own. The house was her makeshift home before he had completely destroyed it. Matthew gritted his teeth and moved straight to his door, trying to shut out the view of the guest bedroom as he strode past. There were too many memories in this house. Too many memories everywhere.

With a sigh of relief Matthew gripped on to the door of his room and shut himself away from the rest of the house. His room was exactly how he had left it, as if it had been preserved, just waiting for his return. He threw his cane on to the bed and sat down its still pressed and fresh covers. He took in the details of the room, so removed from the Spartan mess he had woken up to that morning. A prison of his own making.

He felt a wave of exhaustion hit him and he slowly started to pull of his tie and undo the top buttons of his shirt. He held his loose tie in his hand, knowing that his mother would have told Moseley to give him some peace tonight, and thanking her inwardly. But still, he couldn't just throw his clothes around for the valet to clean up. Matthew pushed himself up from the mattress, limped over to the wardrobe and pulled out the tie draw. He smoothed out his tie and laid it down by the others. His fingers held on to the wooden handle of the draw, and he was about to push it back in, when he caught a glimpse of dull white, hidden in the dark at the back. Slowly, he pulled the draw further out, revealing the small stuffed toy dog he had so desperately tried to forget.

Suddenly, memories he had been holding back and hiding from rushed back to him like a dam breaking. The warmth of her body pressed up against his as they danced, the intoxicating smell of her as he tried to resist the urge to rest his cheek against hers, the mirth in her eyes as they sat together on the garden bench, her lonely figure at the end of the platform, waiting to say her goodbyes.

As the captivating images swirled around his head, his hand reached forward, as if on its own accord. His fingers brushed against the old white fabric of the toy dog when suddenly a shot of guilt ran up his spine and his hand jolted back to his side. Quickly, he closed the draw and stepped back to the bed.

It was over. It had ended months ago. He just had to leave the dog in the shadows and eventually he would forget about it. He would forget about her.

* * *

><p>Matthew took in a deep breath of the crisp morning air as he stepped out onto the cobblestone steps. He had been sitting with his mother in the drawing room, barely eating his breakfast as she happily chatted away, filling him in on all the latest news from the neighbourhood when she mentioned plans for Christmas celebrations at Downton. Matthew's chest immediately tensed up, as if the air in the room had been sucked out. As casually as possible, he excused himself from the table, went straight for his overcoat and cane and stepped outside.<p>

Free.

Well, as free as he could be.

Matthew adjusted his coat then carefully made his way down the white garden path and onto the streets. He was planning to walk down to the main street, but there were too many people out in the street, doing business, running errands, living…He instinctively turned the other way and began to wander.

After a few minutes he started to feel dull stabs of pain in his back. All the trudging in the snow with the cold was not helping his battle wounds. He put his cane in the other hand and roughly massaged the small of his back when he looked up and realised where his feet had taken him.

He was standing amongst the thinned trees, on the border of the church grounds. Of the cemetery.

Immediately his breath stopped in his throat as he caught sight of a lone figure, standing by one of the tombstones.

Mary.

His mouth instinctively dropped open as he watched her from the distance of the trees. Strong, formidable, but with a vulnerability and kindness that few had the privilege to see. It was the same woman he remembered. The same woman he l…

Finally it struck him that she was standing by a grave. Lavinia's grave. Crushing guilt ran through him like a hot flush. It was happening again. He thought he'd changed, he thought he'd learned from his tragic mistakes, yet here was again, falling under her spell while she paid tribute to his fiancé's grave. He ran his hand through his hair, trying to erase his thoughts, but it didn't help. It never does.

He turned his back on the church and walked away as fast as his throbbing back could allow, failing to notice that behind him, Mary had looked up from the tombstone and had caught a glimpse of bright blonde hair streaking through the trees.

* * *

><p><strong>NB<strong>

**EDIT: Now with less embarrassing name mistakes! (hangs downtonian head in shame)**

**She knows! **

**Or does she? She could have just thought she saw Isis the Labrador running round the trees. On his hind legs. With a black overcoat. **

**Yeah, it could totally happen. **

**Anywho, it's good to be back. I was planning to post this earlier but I thought I'd hold back till I had some Mary fix in the chapter otherwise it'd just be another sad trip with zombie-Matthew. Which, I guess, it turned out to be. Sorry bout that. But Fellowes royally screwed him up in the finale so it's going to take a while to get the Happy Matthew back. But no fear, I shall try and help him along. **

**So, to see a bit more Christmas cheer about a month too early – REVIEW! You've been wonderful to me and I hope to make it up to you, so just review me your hopes and dreams and I'll try to live up to them. **

**Jolly ho!**

**1**


	3. Chapter III

**Facing The Ghost – Chapter III**

Matthew was leaning back comfortably on the drawing room lounge, washed in the afternoon sun, when over his book he spied Isobel standing silently under the door frame, watching him. Not knowing how long she had been studying him, he tilted down his book and gave a warm smile.

"Afternoon mother. How was the hospital?"

"Good." Isobel replied quickly after being caught on her watch. "Well, better. Nothing too dramatic anymore, but still a few sniffles from winter."

She sat down on the chair opposite and gave a nervous smile. There was a silence as she continued to watch Matthew while he brought up his book again and carried on reading. He had been back for two nights now, barely venturing outside unless for a brisk walk, but had become wary of even those small excursions after his accidental glimpse of Mary the day before.

"Matthew…" His mother's voice rose up. "Tonight there is to be a large party. At Downton." Matthew lowered his book to see her eyes keenly focused on his. "Quite a few people from the county will be there, and from London. They've even managed to get Sybil back from Ireland with that nice Mr Branson." He remained unmoved. "Look," His mother continued. "I know you said you're not keen on that sort of thing, but I think it will be a good opportunity for you to come back into the family without any… well, without too much awkwardness."

"Mother…." Matthew sighed.

"You left in a bad state, but surely you can't shun them forever?" She argued carefully.

"Do they even know I'm here?" He dropped his book on the table in annoyance.

"No. But I do." Isobel said firmly, but then softened her face. "Listen, my dear, I am aware that I am probably the only thing stopping you from immediately taking the next train down to Manchester, but one cannot burn every bridge. I agree that our lives have changed dramatically since we've been brought in by this family – and not all in a positive way. But we have a responsibility. To them and to ourselves. That can't just be thrown away, no matter what has happened."

Matthew felt his embittered façade drop for a moment as he looked into Isobel's caring eyes. "Mother… I have made some terrible mistakes." His deep voice crackled sombrely.

"So have we all. But if we measured our life by mistakes and failures, then where would we be? The best thing we can do is just to carry on, to learn, and to live."

Matthew considered her words carefully. He knew she was right, however much he wished to deny it. "Then I'll carry on." He murmured, he slowly picking up his book again as his mother gave him a hopeful smile.

I will move on. I will.

* * *

><p>The tires crackled over the icy cobblestone drive as the motorcar slowly turned to pull up before Downton Abbey. Matthew glanced out from the small car window. The grand house stood out like an island amongst the dark, frozen landscape. Warm light shone from every window, illuminating the house in a subtle glow. Soft strains of music wafted out from the open doorway. A sense of dread hung upon him as the building towered over him its festive atmosphere, as if mocking him. But somewhere deep inside him, hidden away and ignored, he felt he was home.<p>

Matthew stepped out onto the driveway then helped his mother out of the car. She gave him a small, supporting squeeze of his hand, then carried on into the light of the open doorway. Matthew held back for a moment, digging in his cane to the ground to expel some nervous energy, then sucked in a deep breath and took the plunge.

"Cousin Isobel, Merry Christmas..." The Earl of Grantham greeted Isobel warmly in the crowded entrance hall, in front of the beautifully dressed party, the sounds of conversation and revelry drowning out the delicate melody of the string quartet. Cora stood smiling beside Robert, part of the welcoming committee. She glanced up for a moment, when her smile lifted as she caught sight of the new visitor.

"Robert." Cora caught hold of her husband's arm and nodded to the doorway.

Robert let out a beaming grin. "Matthew!" He strode up to him and took his hands in a warm, two-handed handshake. "My dear boy, how lovely to have you back."

"Sorry to drop in on your party like this. I'm sure Carson will have a fit." Matthew forced a smile as Robert let go of his hands but placed a reassuring hand on his arm. Cora sidled up to her husband, wrapping her arm in his, and gave Matthew a welcoming smile.

"What? No, of course not. You are always welcome here! Besides, the girls have persuaded me to host a new sort of party with no formal table dinner." Robert explained playful groan.

"God help us when Lady Grantham arrives." Cora interjected with a smirk.

Robert looked down at his wife with a loving smile, then back up to Matthew. "But truly; you will always be welcome in Downton." He added seriously. "Surely you know that?"

Matthew gripped harder on his cane but nodded. "I do. Of course. But I'm afraid I will only be here for a few days. For Christmas. Then I must go back to Manchester."

"Oh." Matthew couldn't help but notice Robert's face drop in disappointment. "But of course…"

Cora's eyes flicked from Matthew to Robert and back, gauging their fallen expressions. "Then you must join us for our Christmas dinner. But we shouldn't keep you here all to ourselves." She forced a grin. "Come in and enjoy the party, I'm sure the girls will be glad to see you have returned."

She laid a comforting hand on Robert's arm and continued to hold him by her side as he put on a sad smile and held free arm out, motioning Matthew to the lively party.

As he slowly stepped forward into the festively decorated hall, he felt a shadow move behind his shoulder.

"Mr Crawley." A deep, measured voice came from the hidden figure.

Matthew turned around reluctantly, knowing all to well who he was going to see. "Sir Richard." He greeted stiffly.

Carlisle's eyes sharpened as he studied Matthew. "I was not aware you had returned to Downton."

"Only visiting for Christmas." He replied shortly, inwardly praying to get away from this conversation as quickly as possible.

He could see Richard's face immediately relax, then slowly form a triumphant smirk. "Then you shall miss our wedding in January."

"So soon?" Matthew shot out in surprise before his mind had a chance to stop him. "I mean…" He quickly gathered himself under Richard's suspicious gaze. "I thought you were planning for a summer wedding."

"We were. But what reason is there to wait anymore?" He gave a small, smug smile. "We did send you an invitation, but your mother must have forgotten to convey the message. It is a shame you will not be able to join us."

Matthew glared at him as he tried to put words in his mouth, but then let out a small sigh. It was no use trying to compete with Carlisle. Mary and him were over, they were cursed, and Richard was going to give her the secure and powerful life she had always wanted.

"Yes." Matthew nodded slowly. "It is a shame."

He tried to ignore the conceited look on Richard's face when suddenly a soft, cheerful voice sung out from the crowd.

"Cousin Matthew!" Sybil broke in on the tense conversation with a beam. "Father didn't say you'd returned. How lovely to see you!"

Matthew couldn't help but smile at the youthful warmth of his cousin. "As it is to see you, Sybil."

In the corner of his eye he could see Richard back away as Mr Branson joined them, standing closely behind Sybil.

"But I do not think I have congratulated you yet." Matthew offered, and Sybil looked up at Tom with a warm smile as he beamed with pride.

"Thank you. To be honest I'm still at a loss as to how I got so lucky." Branson joked.

"It must be a bizarre night for you."

"By the looks on everyone's faces you'd think I still reek of petrol. Though to tell you the truth it is fun to stir these people up." The Irishman gave a cheeky grin.

"Nothing like the holidays to ruffle a few feathers." Tom added as his gaze moved past Matthew and his smile turned sly. "Don't you agree, Lady Mary?"

Matthew's stomach turned as he quickly looked around to see Mary standing just behind them, watching them silently. He thought he saw a flash of shock in her deep brown eyes as they darted to his, but that quickly disappeared as she fixed her sights forward to Branson and eased back to her cold, effete veneer.

"One must provide guests with stimulating conversations_._" Mary replied dryly as Matthew felt her move in beside him.

Sybil's eyes flicked nervously to him then to Mary. "Isn't it wonderful to have Cousin Matthew back for Christmas?" She offered carefully.

"Yes." He heard her cool, measured voice answer as a shiver ran up his side, standing in such close proximity to her. "Yes it is."

His eyes dared to glance down at her for a moment, taking in her beautiful, indiscernible face as her gaze was locked firmly to her sister. "So…" Matthew turned away quickly and broke the awkward silence. "How has your new life in Dublin been treating you?"

Matthew tried to concentrate as Sybil began chatting away happily about hospitals and Irish parliaments, but his breathing slowly became laboured as the scent of Mary's familiar perfume teased him. He gripped on to his cane tighter and fixed his eyes on Sybil, fearful that they would stray to more tempting sights. He had to stay focused. He had to carry on.

Branson watched him intently as Matthew struggled with himself. Softly he held Sybil's hand in his and moved in closer to her. "I think I should go down to the kitchen and say hello to everyone." He carefully interjected. "Would you like to join me?"

Sybil looked at her husband in confusion and he raised his eyebrows, wordlessly stressing his meaning. She quickly understood his subtext and turned back to Matthew and Mary with a smile. "May as well ruffle a few more feathers while we're here. It is good to see you again Matthew." She reached out and gave Matthew's hand a squeeze then tucked her arm around Branson's as they walked away into the party with a knowing smile.

They were alone.

Matthew's heart beat faster as he stood next to Mary in silence, neither knowing how to break it.

"The um…" He found himself starting awkwardly. "The house looks wonderful." He nervously flicked his gaze to Mary.

"Yes. They spent a few days preparing." She answered simply, her porcelain face still poised.

The silence between them tore through his insides. He despised not being able to fall into their natural, spirited repartee. He yearned for their easy honesty; he yearned for his dearest friend. But he had to let it go now; he didn't deserve her friendship or her love. Just the pain and the silence.

"I can't see Carson becoming accustom to the idea of cocktail parties…" Matthew offered, stealing a few quick glances over to Mary.

"No." She replied elegantly. "But Downton will have to catch up to the modern world someday."

"Tell that to Cousin Violet and she'd clamp her lady's maid to the railings in protest." Matthew joked softly when Mary let out a small hint of laughter. He snapped back to her. She was smiling; her eyes looking directly into his. Suddenly the sounds of the outside world seemed to fade away. For a precious moment the wall between them had melted, and they were back to being _them_, before any of the guilt and the anger and the pain.

Mary turned to him, her eyes turning sad as they trailed down his face to his arm. "You still need your cane." She said quietly.

"The pain still comes and goes." Matthew murmured simply, a wave of intoxication sweeping over him as he took in her delicate features with a long denied awe.

Her eyes searched his sadly. "Yes." She said softly in a voice tinged with regret. "Yes I suppose it does."

She turned her gaze away, and in an instant, the moment was lost.

Mary had put her mask back on. The sounds of the party rose up to overwhelm them.

Matthew pulled himself out of reverie and scanned the crowd, tyring to avoid looking at Mary. His gaze passed over Sir Richard who stood silently on the far side of the hall, ignoring the man talking to him and staring directly at Matthew with a piercing glare. Mary caught sight of her fiancé's watch and quickly turned back Matthew.

"I'm afraid I must – " She started, a false smile stamped on her lips.

"Yes." He finished for her. "Of course."

She turned and walked away; away to Richard Carlisle and her future. His eyes fixed on her as she moved through the crowd, wishing she would turn around to look at him one last time, but knowing she wouldn't. Of course she wouldn't. The things he had said to her the last time they spoke; she had no reason to look back, she had no reason to think anything of him.

He knew he had to carry on, that he didn't deserve her, but as he watched Mary as she reached Sir Richard and he took up her hand to kiss it, a fresh pain tore through his heart, and he realised that no matter how hard he tried; they would never be over.

* * *

><p><strong>NB:<strong>

**Damn right they'd never be over! Don't believe all that Titanic talk people – this shit is still on!**

**So, this chapter. Took me a bit to write. I mean, I'm still writing every day but my god I write like a drunken dyslexic sloth! Actually, put a cardigan on that puppy and that pretty much sums me up in a nutshell. **

**But enough of that inane metaphoring; let's talk chapter – Robert still loves his wife (I've blocked the maid-that-must-not-be-named plot line out of my mind completely otherwise I'd vomit), Sybil and Tom are hitched and happy, and Matthew and Mary have a small moment together, full of hideous awkwardness. **

**Cause let's face it, it's not going to be smiles and Perseus after the grave fight, is it? So now that meeting's out of the way, we can finally get to the sweet plotty inards!**

**But – in order to get a freshly baked serve of delicious plottiness, I need to harness the power of your reviews! That's right, I'm putting on my fake beard and stars n' stripes hat and calling on YOU to review so then YOU can receive quicker and better Matthew/Mary action!**

**Yay!**


	4. Chapter IV

**Facing The Ghost – Chapter IV**

Matthew carefully stepped down the stairs as the dull morning light crept through the windows. For the first time in a few days, he had woken up without the throbbing pain in his back, and was able to walk without his resented cane. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he gave a small, relieved sigh as he let go of the railings and walked to the dining room unhindered.

His mother looked up from her breakfast as he entered the room, examining him up and down.

"How is your back today?" Isobel asked professionally.

"Good morning to you too, mother." Matthew gave a small wry smile as he sat opposite her at the table.

"Shouldn't you be using your cane anyway," Isobel continued. "Just to ease into it?"

Matthew sighed as he served himself breakfast. "There are good days and bad days mother; I plan to make the most of my freedom while I can."

Isobel watched him carefully as turned his attention to his food and silence fell between them. "Last night didn't go that badly."

"Hmm." Matthew murmured as he sipped his tea, looking away to the grey landscape outside.

"Are you still planning on joining me for Christmas at Downton tomorrow?" She asked inquisitively.

"Yes." Matthew replied shortly as he put down his cup. "But then the day after I've booked my ticket back to Manchester." He looked up and saw his mother's disappointed face.

"Matthew," She started kindly. "You don't have to leave."

"No." He answered, looking directly at her. "No I do."

Isobel sighed, looking in to his eyes sadly, and was about to speak when Mr. Moseley suddenly appeared in the doorway to the dining room.

"Excuse me Mrs Crawley, Mr Crawley – Lord Grantham is here to see you." Moseley announced formally then moved aside as Robert stepped in beside him, dressed up in shooting tweed and smiling widely.

"Merry Christmas, cousin Isobel, cousin Matthew!" Robert greeted happily as Matthew stood up from his chair. "I am so sorry to interrupt your peaceful morning, but I thought I should pop round personally to invite Matthew to the shoot today."

"The shoot?" Matthew echoed, surprised by his cousin's entrance and immediately thinking of pretence to escape.

"Indeed. I thought I should ask you last night but you slinked away before I could." He replied cheerfully. "I do hope you can join us. We haven't had a shoot since the war, and it would be nice to spend more time with you before you leave again to Manchester."

Matthew felt caught. He wanted so desperately to be able to break away from his old life, but seeing the hope and care in Robert's eyes, the thought of rejecting him seemed too cruel.

"I…" Matthew tried to start, mind swirling with soft excuses.

"But of course if your back isn't up to it, I completely understand." Robert offered kindly.

Matthew glanced down to his mother, who was watching him inquisitively. Trust his only means of escape to have already been scuttled.

"No." He turned back to Lord Grantham. "I am feeling much better today…" He saw Robert's face light up again as he forced the words out of his mouth. "And it would be a pleasure to join you…"

"Wonderful." Lord Grantham clapped his hands together. "We set out at 10. I shall see you at Downton. Cousin Isobel." He nodded, with a smile, then strode away.

Matthew slowly eased back down in to his chair. Just two more days. Just two more days and then he can move on.

* * *

><p>The grey clouds hung silently in the sky as the convoy of cars pulled up besides the cold white rotunda that sat nestled between the bare trees. Carson stood inside, beside the perfectly set table, waiting for the opulent party, as the gamekeeper's men struggled with the pack of excited hunting dogs as they were hurried off the back of a rusted truck.<p>

The still air filled with the sound of feverish barking as Matthew stepped out of car, Robert bounding out after him. The gamekeeper gruffly pulled back on the leashes, then nodded to one of his men who obediently plodded over to Matthew and offered him an open shotgun. He looked at the gun hesitantly. He had never liked the idea of hunting, and he had not held a gun since the war, but the dye had been cast. Slowly, he took the gun off the helper and held it tight by his side, the hard barrel making him uncomfortable as it hung heavily in his hand.

Robert casually slung his arm around his shotgun and cut his way through the mess of excited dogs to talk to his gamekeeper as Sir Richard stood by the truck with the two other men in the party, nodding to their small talk, but occasionally looking up to glance at Matthew, standing silently in the melting snow.

The yelping of the dogs grew louder as another car appeared from amongst the barren trees and pulled up on the other side of the rotunda. Matthew watched as Lady Rosamond stepped out, smiling back at Cora as she followed after, and was about to look away when a familiar figure appeared with them.

Mary.

Matthew remained still as Robert took off his tweed cap to greet the ladies and motioned them towards the rotunda and the tea. Matthew felt a wave of relief when he realised she would not join them on the shoot, a relief that failed to last as Mary stole a glimpse of him as she walked to the set table. He could feel his heartbeat race as she furtively looked him up and down then caught his own eyes in hers.

She looked away. Matthew watched as she put on a smile to her aunt then sat down elegantly by the table, joining in the polite pleasantries.

"So Lord Grantham," Carlisle's distinctive voice called out, bringing out Matthew from his contemplation. "Shall we shoot or not?"

Robert looked up from the table. "Yes of course Sir Robert." He answered through a false smile and stepped out from under the moss-covered rotunda. "Ferguson, are you ready?" He looked over to the gatekeeper, still holding back the dogs.

"Aye m'Lord." Ferguson answered gruffly.

"Good then; let's set out!" Robert smiled as he popped back on his tweed cap and followed the gatekeeper as he led the dogs to the trees.

* * *

><p>Matthew stood at the edge of the tree line, looking out to the clearing, the patches of melted snow revealing glimpses of dull grass. His helper waited behind, holding out the shells, as the rest of the party stood spread out beside him, guns at the ready, waiting for the gamekeeper's call as he walked alone in the clearing, commanding the scattered pack of dogs.<p>

"Sir?" The helper inquired quietly, shells still waiting his hand.

"Of course." Matthew replied softly, as he broke out of his reverie and looked back from the clearing. "Thank you."

Reluctantly, he took hold of the two shells and loaded his shotgun, closing it with a dull click. There was a whistle in the distance as the gamekeeper reached the shrubs on the other side of the clearing. Slowly, Matthew brought the cold gun up to his shoulder and stood at the ready.

There was a bark, a distant rustle, when suddenly the grey sky swirled with the frantic fluttering of birds.

Then the guns.

Matthew gripped tight onto the barrel as the clearing flooded with the deafening boom of shotguns.

"_Major, they're advancing!"_

His stomach clenched as the waft of gunpowder gathered in the air.

_The mud. The dark. The stench of death. _

The shots thundered in his ears as the party went for another volley.

_William._

Cold sweat ran down his forehead as his hands began to tremble.

No.

Quickly Matthew put down his gun and offloaded it to his helper. "Sorry, I've…" He tried to mutter, but the memories of his cold, muddy past came rushing back to him as the sound of guns shuddered through him.

Without a look back, he escaped through the cover of the barren trees as fast as his legs could take him, as far as he could from the booming shots.

Damp branches whipped past as he rushed through the frozen bracken, when suddenly a hot shock of pain ran up his spine.

Matthew stopped dead and pressed a hand to his throbbing back as he gripped onto the nearest tree. He could hear the blood thumping in his ears as he shut his eyes tight in desperation to erase the memories replaying in his mind. He tried to calm his laboured breathing as he took off his tweed cap and ran his fingers through his blonde hair. A soft gust of chilling wind rustled through the bare trees and past Matthew as he leaned his back against the knotted bark, the fire is his back slowly falling away as his thoughts cleared.

Minutes past as Matthew stood silently against the tree, concentrating on his deep breathing, on the faint drips of melting snow, on the quiet rustle of the wind, when a soft crack of damp bracken roused him from his thoughts.

"Matthew?"

He whipped around to see Mary standing alone amongst the trees, just a few feet away from him, with an apprehensive look on her face.

"Mary." He found her name slipping out of his mouth in surprise, as his eyes locked with hers.

"I was just going for a walk." Mary said quickly, attempting to be conversational. "You have left the shooting party?" She put on her mannered smile.

"Yes." Matthew gathered himself, gripping his tweed cap between his hands. "But I'm afraid I must have… lost my way back to the rotunda."

"Oh." Mary replied simply, her polite mask still on.

There was an awkward silence for a moment as Matthew debated whether or not he should leave her. He knew he should, that they would both be better off if they just remained detached, but being this close, alone, he couldn't help but feel the pull towards her.

"Do you know the way?" He asked civilly, breaking the silence.

"Of course." Mary put on a smile and motioned behind her.

Matthew gave a cautious nod and stepped towards her as Mary turned and headed back into the trees. With a nervous twist of his cap he moved in beside her, deliberately leaving a few feet between them as they padded through the quiet wood.

"I didn't think you enjoyed shoots." Mary's soft voice carefully broke the silence.

"No." Matthew looked over to her as they fell into a comfortable stroll, her mask beginning to fall. "I don't."

"You could've told father." She added, her eyes still set ahead.

"You didn't see the look on his face when he asked me." Matthew joked slightly, when a knot formed in his throat. Only a few minutes and already they were dangerously close to their old manner. He knew had to stop himself, but with the ghosts of the battlefield now fresh in his mind, all he wanted right now was some sort of relief; and no matter how tortured his feelings towards Mary, he couldn't deny that at this moment, with her, the pain from his back had waned.

"But I…" Matthew found himself adding quietly. "I didn't leave because I don't like shoots…"

Mary slowed down and turned to him, her mask now completely gone, her eyes shining with empathy; with the honesty that he had so missed.

"I can't talk about it… The war. " He slowly tried to explain, feeling defenceless under her gaze. "But it's still there. It will _always _be there.

Matthew looked back into her caring eyes when he realised he had unconsciously moved in closer to her, their bodies almost touching as they stood alone in the woods. Quickly, he stepped away and continued on the path through the trees.

"I'm sorry." He dismissed himself.

"Don't be." Mary immediately countered as she joined him again, giving a small, comforting smile.

"No, it's not that, it's…" Matthew took in a deep breath. He had sworn he would restrain himself around Mary, but if he was ever going to let her go, she had to know the truth. "I am sorry I've been so wretched to you."

Mary quickly turned to him and opened her mouth to oppose when he cut her off.

"No, I mean it. I was so angry with myself and I lashed out. You didn't deserve any of it." He could feel her gaze piercing him, but she let him speak. "What happened with Lavinia… it was my fault, and mine alone." He let out a stifled breath as the pain of guilt rose back into him. "You deserve much better. Despite my abrasive manner recently, I am grateful you have Sir Richard." He looked over to her and gave her a sad smile.

He thought for a moment that that her deep brown eyes had welled with tears, but he passed that off as his imagination as she quickly put on a smile.

"Thank you." She said quietly then turned back to the wooded path.

"However," He continued as he caught up and they fell back into a comfortable stride. "You must forgive me if I excuse myself from your wedding." He looked at her with a charming smile to cover up his true sentiment.

"Being stuck with a depressed Edith all day? No, I wouldn't wish that on you." Mary joked nervously.

"I thought she would've set her sights on one of the men staying at Downton." Matthew mused as he unconsciously moved nearer to her.

"Maybe that's why they were so keen to arm themselves today." She quipped with a wry smirk.

He looked at her and smiled, their eyes meeting as they shared their mirth, when Matthew realised close they were. His throat suddenly turned dry as he could help but flick a quick glance at her soft lips.

"Mary." A deep, unexpected voice tore them back to reality.

Standing further down the path, gripping an open shotgun, was Carlisle.

Matthew instantaneously took away step away from Mary. "Sir Richard." He greeted him cordially, as Mary seemed stuck in silence.

"Mr Crawley." Richard replied shortly, remaining firm in his stance.

"You have left the shoot?" Matthew heard Mary's unfeeling voice ask as her cool façade returned.

"I've had my fill of aristocratic pastimes." Richard answered bluntly.

There was a silence as Matthew flicked from Mary's serene mask to Carlisle's piercing glare.

"Mary was just guiding me back to the rotunda." Matthew offered, forcing a friendly smile as he studied Richard's gaze intently.

"Of course she was." He responded tersely. "Mary, I need to talk with you."

Matthew looked over to Mary, expecting her to rebuff him with a wry smirk. But instead there was the cold, refined veneer he had begun to resent. She stood by him for a moment in silence, and he thought he could see a hint of a fire burn in her eyes, but then she suddenly turned to him and gave a polite smile.

"Excuse me." She said quickly then turned and walked towards Richard as he relaxed the grip on his shotgun. Matthew began to feel uneasy as Carlisle held her arm by his hand and led her off the path and into the shadows of the wood.

Something wasn't right.

* * *

><p><strong>NB**

**Something is not right. Something is quite wrong. That's whyyyy I sing this songggg.**

**Sorry. Couldn't help it. But if you know where that song is from then go have yourself a virtual brownie. **

**Hmmmm….**

**But enough of imaginary calories, let's talk story. Well Matthew had a bit of a flash back to the war, because, let's face it, he was in WW1, and however much I love bitch face Matthew – that really was one screwed up war, and I don't think there was enough time spent on the horror of it compared time spend on the jesus penis. So I gave a glimpse. Or tried to give a glimpse. Of the horror, not the penis. **

**Man, try and dig yourself out of that one…**

**Anyway; Mary and him are finally settling back into their own ways when Richard interrupts, and she does what's she's told. Can anyone here say Important Plot Point? That's right kids – if you want to see Matthew pondering the condition of the relationship between Mary and Richard and then actually do something about it – Please Review!**

**Your Reviews are like oxygen. Reviews are a many splendid thing - Reviews lift me up where I belong, all I need is Reviews!**

**(and if you know what song that is – you get a whole virtual cake for being awesome)**

**Now I've gotta go bake!**


	5. Chapter V

**Facing The Ghost – Chapter V**

The fire flickered down to embers as its dwindling warm glow danced across the dark figure, sitting alone in the drawing room of Crawley House. Matthew's thumb absentmindedly ran across the brim of his untouched brandy as he stared out of the dark window, deep in thought.

There was something strange going on between Mary and Sir Richard. Something that pulled at his stomach at night, that swirled in his mind when he watched her.

She was sad.

That day when Carlisle had called her over, she did just that. The hollowness of her eyes haunted Matthew. Where had her fire gone? Had he so damaged her after the death of Lavinia?

Was he to blame?

A rush of guilt gripped his throat. Maybe she really was happy with Sir Richard, and all he was feeling was jealously, a jealously he must learn to live with. Carlisle was there for her at the funeral, there when she needed someone, there when every one had abandoned her. When _he_ had abandoned her.

No, Matthew was just over thinking too much.

And yet… there was a moment that day, and at the party, when her saw the fire in her eyes return.

But so briefly. Too briefly.

"It's snowing again." A quiet voice appeared behind him.

"Hmm?" Matthew jolted out of his thoughts, his eyes finally noticing the quiet fall of snowflakes, floating in the night sky. He looked over his shoulder to see Isobel standing at the door in her nightgown, silhouetted against the light of the hallway.

"I thought you'd gone to bed." Matthew murmured; his mind still clouded with thoughts of Mary.

"No. Not yet." Isobel's dark figure replied simply. "You should get some sleep after today."

He turned his head and glanced back out of the window. "I can't sleep."

He heard the quiet rustle of her nightgown as his mother moved through the shadowed room and sat down on the chair opposite him, her eyes glinting with a hint of the embers as she stared directly at him.

"Mary." She said bluntly.

Matthew took in a breath and looked over to his mother, about to protest, but his words failed him in a sigh.

"What happened today?" Isobel continued cautiously, using his moment of silence.

"Nothing of importance…" Matthew brushed off, looking away.

He could feel his mother's gaze still strong on him. "Except?"

"Except…" He found himself echoing with a reluctant sigh. "There was a moment today when Sir Richard…" He stopped, debating whether to reveal his heart to his mother while trying to find the words before the thought had even formed in his mind.

"I can't help thinking Mary is making terrible mistake."

"Oh Matthew." Isobel sighed lovingly. "Why don't you tell her?"

"I can't." He shot back bitterly. "What if I'm wrong? And even if I'm not, what right have I to interfere in her life anymore? Any claim I may have had I have since destroyed."

"Whatever happened between you and Mary, I'm sure it can be mended." Isobel insisted as leaned forward in her chair.

"It never will." Matthew muttered as the admission caught in his throat.

"I know how capricious Mary can be, and no doubt her head-strong nature –"

"Don't say that." He shot out, quickly interrupting his mother. "Mary had no part in this. It was I who pushed her away, I that submitted to temptation, that broke Lavinia's heart, that…"

Matthew slowed to silence as he became aware of his uncontrolled confession, his eyes clouding over as the consequences of his past actions flowed back into his mind.

Isobel's eyes focused with a sad attention as his son slunk back into his chair. "What do you mean?" She asked carefully.

He continued to look away as the words slowly came from his dry mouth. "Before Lavinia… she saw us. Mary and I… I kissed her and she saw us." He finally drew his eyes back up to his mother's. "Lavinia was recovering. If I hadn't surrendered to my own base desires, I am sure she would have survived. But it's all my fault."

"No." His mother's strong voice broke the dark silence.

"What?" Matthew questioned in surprise.

"No." Isobel reaffirmed. "I will not have you taking responsibility for something completely out of your control."

Matthew opened his mouth to protest when his mother quickly cut him off. "All this time, did you really think it was your fault? I don't claim to be an authority on influenza, but I have now seen more than enough cases to know that the outcome of the infection is not determined by one's strength of will. No matter how sweet and timid Lavinia was, I do not believe she would ever knowingly give up that battle." He looked deep into her caring eyes as she paused, bringing her hand over to rest on his knee. "Or blame you for the result."

Matthew looked down at his mother's small hand as the warmth stirred his cold body. His eyes began to sting as the memories of his past clouded his mind. "She told me to leave her. To go to Mary." His voice choked with emotion as he looked up to Isobel. "But I couldn't. I couldn't do that to her, not after everything she would have sacrificed."

"You loved her." Isobel said softly with a sad smile. "But you are not honouring her by living in regret." She let the silence hang for a moment for Matthew to consider her words. "If you think Mary is making a mistake by marrying Sir Richard, then tell her."

"I don't deserve her anymore." He quickly rebutted.

"But you will never be happy if she is forever shackled to a miserable life." She studied him for a moment then patted him lightly on the knee as she slowly stood up. "Lavinia only ever wanted for you to be happy. Mourning is not the only way to acknowledge the dead."

Matthew watched in deep thought as his mother gave him a small, comforting smile then moved past him, her rustling nightgown filling the dark silence. As she reached the door she suddenly stopped, her silhouette still against the light as she turned back to look at her son.

"Mary was by your bed." She started slowly. "Every day when you were injured she was there by your side. You talk of Lavinia's sacrifice but have you ever considered just what Mary would do for those she cares about?"

Isobel studied Matthew's dark figure once more then let out a small sigh and disappeared into the light, leaving him alone in the cold room with his swirling thoughts.

Just how much would Mary be prepared to give up for the sake of others?

Matthew couldn't stand back anymore. He may never be her Perseus, but that didn't mean he could let her throw her life away.

* * *

><p><strong>NB:<strong>

**You go Matthew! You climb that mountain! You knock down that wall! You do those other inspirational tropes!**

**That's right friends: Matthew's on a mission. **

**But first off: Sorry about the teeny tiny chapter, I meant to write more but it's taken me way too bloody long to write so I thought I'd just post this now to tide everyone over for a bit, because if you're like me, you're getting extra downton-ravernous now that Christmas is only a few days away (or should I say Merry Doctor Downton Day, and a Happy Sherlock Day to you!)**

**So this is sort of a time-out chapter where Matthew finally gets some sense smacked in to him. By Isobel. Cause let's face it; he is a bit of a momma's boy so I think he'd take the chance to vent out all his angst to her. Cause there be a whole lotta angst. **

**And she can finally remind him about Mary doing the whole "I'll take care of you no matter how crippled" song and dance; which seemingly every character forgot about. **

**But for now; your reviews would be much adored and revered if you should choose to send them – and they in turn will inspire me to write the next chapter: Christmas Day Madness! Expect confrontations! Sleuthing Matthew! Pompous Lady Violet! Frosty Sir Richard! And a whole lot of raised eyebrows!**

**Everyone done with their looks? Good then. Review!**


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